


Who's Laughing Now

by somuchust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchust/pseuds/somuchust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has had a bad day, and his plan for the evening involved getting drunk and jerking off in his bed. He's not going to change that just because Derek Hale invades his room and wants his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a serious Sterek fic with plot, but then porn happened.

It's dark and cold outside, but Stiles is warm and still pleasantly drunk as he lies on his bed, unzipping and pulling down his jeans. He hums to himself, and doesn't think of anything in particular as he presses the heal of his palm against his half-hard cock through his boxers. He rubs back and forth a bit, before deciding that skin on skin is definitely better and sliding his underwear down to his ankles, then disentangling his legs and spreading them further to get a better angle. 

He's just about to slide his other hand up to his nipples for some good old pinching when his window opens and a too familiar shape lands in his room. Derek hesitates for a second, taking in the sight in front of him, before visibly collecting himself and looking Stiles directly into his eyes.

“Stiles, get up, I-”

Stiles is not exactly sober, and he's had a really, really shit day (there was a reason for the drinking), and the last thing he needs right now is a werewolf bothering him and interrupting his private time, and he doesn't hesitate to tell the said wolf so. He doesn't even bother covering up. He just can't bring himself to care at this point. “So I'd appreciate it very much if you left, and forgot you saw anything,” he finishes.

“Look, Stiles, I don't really care about what you do in your own time, but I really need some information and you-”

“No, you know what? You get out of here, Derek. Right now. This is my room, and I'll do whatever the hell I like here, whenever the hell I like.”

Derek continues glaring, unsurprisingly. “Get over yourself, Stiles, I just need you to look up why-”

But Stiles is no longer listening. Well, he's pretending not to, same thing. He tightens his grip on his softening cock, stroking himself leisurely back to hardness. He can't physically make Derek go away, but he can make him feel uncomfortable enough to leave on his own. It doesn't hurt that he can actually look at Derek and his irritatingly perfect pectorals and hear his voice while he jerks himself off.

After a few seconds, he notices his strategy is not working quite as he expected. Derek is still glaring, now with his arms crossed and a slightly odd expression on his face. He's stopped talking, so Stiles feels free to take over. 

“You're not planning to stick around and wait for me to finish? Really? What's so urgent? No, please don't tell me, I honestly don't give a fuck right now.” Stiles grips the headboard with one hand and bends his knee. He makes eye contact with Derek – it makes him feel warm all over, immediately – and raises his eyebrows at him. “Actually, ff you want this to be over quicker, you should take your shirt off again. Maybe do a little dance.”

Derek's face twitches.

“Or not. You can just stand there and look menacing. Works for me.” He winks at Derek, grins, and tilts his head back. He moans loudly and obscenely while smearing precome all over the head of his cock, because he's pretty sure there's not way to resolve the situation like mature adults (or in Stiles' case, teenagers) at this point, so he might as well have fun with it. He's half expecting Derek to fulfill one of his throat-ripping threats any moment now. The other half is seriously hoping against hope that Derek does a little dance.

“Oh, Derek!” he moans theatrically. “Dere-” he starts again, this time more honestly, and his voice breaks on the last syllable.

The next thing he knows, Derek's launched himself towards the bed, landing right next to Stiles' legs, his fangs out, eyes glowing red and he growls.

It's meant to frighten him, but Stiles has apparently gone completely insane, because it pushes him right over the edge and he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

And then, some of it lands on Derek's face.

Stiles giggles, and there might be a panicked undertone to it. Because he apparently has a death wish, he leans closer, brings his hand to Derek's frozen face and smears the come across his cheek. “Was it good for you too?” he asks with a grin.

Derek flinches and backs away with impressive speed. He takes one last horrified look at Stiles and then he's out of the window. Stiles falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically. He feels completely detached from the situation. It's the only way to deal with it, because if he thinks about it too closely or considers the consequences, it won't be quite so funny any more.

 

*

Unfortunately, morning comes, and with it the hangover. Stiles wakes up feeling like he hasn't slept at all. The shrill sound of the alarm does not help. He thinks he feels like shit, but then, then he remembers-

He's up and out of the bed in an instant, plastering himself to the wall furthest from it. He stares at the bed in horror, as if it was at fault for what happened there.

“No, no, no, no, no...” he murmurs to himself in panic. Somehow, he doesn't think Derek Hale will appreciate him coming all over his face. He slides down the wall, and just rests on the floor for a while, torn between disbelief, panic and a vague sense of... pride? Yes, there is definitely a part of him that wants to congratulate himself. After all, there can't be that many people in the world who've managed that.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he wants to hide in his room, he has school today, and Harris will know if Stiles tries to skip school (he just does, somehow, it's really creepy). Stiles tries to look on the bright side. If he's in a crowd, it'll be safer - Derek will be less likely to seek him out and have his revenge. Right?

*

School's over, and Derek still hasn't found and brutally murdered him yet. It makes Stiles nervous. Maybe that's what Derek likes, playing with his prey, letting it think it's safe, and then-

No. Not going there. He doesn't want to live in constant fear. Maybe, just maybe, if he apologizes profusely, blames it on the alcohol, Derek will even let it go. In any case, facing him and getting it all over with does not seem like such a bad idea, especially considering that when Stiles thinks about it rationally, Derek most likely does not actually want him dead (perhaps he overreacted initially, just a bit), seeing as he's still breathing.

Regardless of his sudden optimism, he turns to Scott, who's talking about Allison (Stiles hasn't actually been listening, so theoretically he could be wrong, but Scott's always talking about Allison), and says: “I love you, Scott. You're my best friend. I wanted to tell you that, in case I meet my end in an unfortunate accident any time soon.”

Scott just looks at him, bemused. “Thanks, Stiles... I love you too,” he replies, and it seems like he's trying to decide whether Stiles has gone completely mental or if is just being his usual self. He goes for the later (Stiles can read it on his face, the guy is like an open book), and he only waves at him in goodbye when Stiles makes his way towards his jeep and once he's on the road, to the Hale house.

*

He doesn't even have to look for Derek once he gets there. He's sitting outside on a log, seemingly staring into space and probably thinking about something depressing. He doesn't show any reaction to Stiles' arrival.

“Hey,” Stiles yells. No one can deny he's brave. He walks up to Derek, sits down next to him on the log, putting just enough distance between them so they don't touch.“I think we should talk about our relationship,” he continues. “And by relationship, I mean you generously allowing me to continue my existence.”

Derek eyes him from the side. He looks somehow skeptical, which Stiles deems better than say, pissed off, or downright murderous.

“You've made it quite clear you're not afraid of me.”

“Yes, well,” Stiles usually doesn't find it quite this hard to formulate sentences. “You're scarier when I'm sober.”

Derek almost smiles at that, eyes flashing red for a split second. Something clicks in Stiles brain, and as usual, his brain to mouth filter is not functioning properly, so he just talks. “Really? Does it matter that much to you? Being the big, bad, scary wolf? Is that why you creep in the shadows all the time and glare at everyone? Do you practice scowling in the mirror every day?”

Sometimes, Stiles really wishes he knew when to shut up. Derek is back to looking less than pleased with him and Stiles tries to put some distance between them, as if that will help if Derek actually decides to hurt him. But then one of Derek's hands is gripping his neck from behind and he freezes. Claws scrape his skin, softly, but still threatening.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're genuinely very frightening, please forgive me. Can we just forget about the time I came on your face or pretend it never happened?”

That would be ideal, and Stiles would give just about anything to make it happen right now, but Derek's angry growl tells him it won't be that easy. He desperately hopes he won't wolf out and rip out his throat.

Then, Derek slams down his head, reminding him of that wonderful time with the steering wheel, except this time it's less forceful and Stiles ends up with his face almost in Derek's crotch. Well, he can't say the intent is not clear.

He also can't lie to himself about the fact that he's strangely tempted by the idea. Nevertheless, he glances at Derek's face to check if he's serious, and the challenging look in his eyes tells him he is.

Stiles definitely did not plan to spend the afternoon giving Derek Hale a blow job, but a combination of reasons - he figures he owes him a little bit, he's not that fond of his virginity, and there is a part of him that simply wants to see what the werewolf is like when he's not scowling or just plain angry at the world – prompts him to go ahead and do it. So he unzips Derek's jeans, and then Derek is being surprisingly helpful by lifting his hips enough for him to pull the jeans and his underwear down to expose his hardening cock. Stiles takes in the sight, feels a bit intimidated – Derek's a bigger than him, thicker – then braces himself and goes for it.

He licks a stripe from the base to the head of Derek's cock, looking up at him through his lashes, teasing. Derek's looking down at him, lips pursed, expression unreadable, so Stiles raises his eyebrows at him and gets back to work. He's never done this before, so he's mostly following his instinct, trying to think of any tips he might have picked up from porn. It's not what he expected – it's just skin, the smell of Derek more intense than elsewhere, but not unpleasant, and there's a strange excitement he feels that he gets to do this to Derek Hale, of all people.

He licks around the head, then takes it into his mouth, sucking lightly. He hears, no, feels, a sharper intake of breath from Derek and he smiles, releasing his cock. He presses kisses to its side, going down and then up again, soft and sweet, and he can't keep the grin of his face because he knows how frustrated Derek is becoming. He braces one of his hands on Derek's thigh and moves the other one to the base of his cock, then lower to gently rub at his balls. His touches are light, like feathers, until Derek actually squirms under him, groans his name, attempts to grab Stiles by the hair and of course fails, settling for a firm grip on his skull, using the other hand to grab his cock and then tilting Stiles' head just slightly backwards, urging him to look up.

“I'm glad you're having fun,” Derek says, and there's a menacing undertone to his voice. “But stop it.”

He moves his cock to Stiles' slightly parted mouth, dragging the head along his lips, until Stiles opens them wider, so he can fit it in. Stiles looks up at him angrily, not entirely on board with this course of events, but Derek just pushes his head down, forcing him to take in more. Stiles claws his hand into Derek's thigh, attempts to protest verbally, but it all turns into a succession of moans and almost choking. The most disturbing part isn't that Derek is physically making him do something he didn't agree too, it's that Stiles' body seems to be enjoying it. Heat runs through him, and he struggles a bit, but not really, and he likes to think that if Derek smelled real fear on him, he would stop. It's entirely possible he's lying to himself to ease his conscience, but it's working.

He swirls his tongue around his cock, attempting to make it as wet as possible, to make moving up and down easier. His lips are too dry for this, he wants to lick them, but Derek refuses to release him. Stiles takes as much of him in as he can – which is less than he thought he could, how disappointing - and sucks, hard, and is rewarded with an appreciative – is that a growl? It doesn't sound entirely human- from Derek. The fact that Derek likes what he's doing to him makes him feel good on a very primal level, and he is disturbed again by how much a part of him apparently wants to please Derek.

He sucks, again, then breathes, relaxes his throat and tries to take him deeper. He does it again and again, and he can feel Derek slowly coming apart beneath him. The hand on Stiles' head is no longer gripping him, but rubbing in shaky, irregular circles, petting him, like a good boy. Derek is quiet, an occasional moan escaping his lips, and a part of Stiles wishes he could make him lose all that control, moan louder, say his name, pornographically, over and over again, so he gives it all he's got. 

Derek doesn't do that, of course not, he doesn't say anything, not even a warning when he maybe should - but Stiles can feel his body tense, and soon he can feel his cock pulsing, coming in short spurts, tastes something salty and warm, and Derek is just filling his mouth with it, preventing him from moving way with his hand, so Stiles has to take it, he has to swallow it so he can take more, and that makes Derek buckle again, and Stiles tries to put as much weight on his legs to hold him down, because this is too much.

After a few moments, Derek stills and breathes deeply, letting go of Stiles completely. Stiles releases his cock, takes a few shaky breathes and then raises his hand to wipe off some of the come that has dribbled down his chin.

“No,” Derek says, and for reasons Stiles doesn't want to think about too much, he just obeys. Derek holds his face between his hands gently, wipes the come off with his thumb, then uses the same finger to nudge Stiles' lips apart, and slides it into his mouth. Stiles doesn't even bother trying to protest any more, just licks it clean, watching Derek, whose gaze seems to fixed on Stiles' mouth. When he's done, Derek lets him go, and Stiles turns slightly away from him.

The situation somehow becomes suddenly awkward when Derek is zipping up his pants and Stiles cannot think of a single thing to say. They sit for a few seconds in silence, looking away from each other, and then Derek speaks again.

“You should go.”

Stiles does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was completely blown away by the amazing response to this fic. It's never happened to me before, so I'm really grateful to all of you, especially for the nice comments! I hope I can deliver.
> 
> By the way, this is set in an AU after season 1 (so Derek hasn't turned Isaac, Erica or Boyd).

Stiles doesn't see or hear from Derek for days. It's not unusual – they don't really hang out on their own, except when Derek seeks him out when he needs something. Stiles does a pretty good job of pretending he's absolutely fine, and no one notices anything has changed. He still thinks that's quite admirable, given that he finds it difficult to think about anything else.

*

On Monday after school, Scott asks him to give him a ride to Derek's. Because it's Scott, Stiles almost automatically says yes, but then he remember that means facing Derek, and he gets this strange somersaulting feeling in his stomach, and he honestly can't tell if it's good or bad. He is nervous, and he has no idea what to expect, because they didn't part on very good terms. But a part of him really needs to know what the fuck Derek wants, because thinking about all the possibilities is exhausting.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that Scott is still standing there, waiting for an answer, and is now squinting at him suspiciously. Stiles is certain of one thing - he doesn't want Scott to know what's going on, so he nods and motions towards his jeep. “Sure, no problem. What are you two up to? Hunting rabbits in the woods?”

Scott launches into an explanation of how Derek wants him to be part of his pack and has agreed to train him and teach him all sorts of useful werewolf lore in exchange, and that he's actually considering it, and all the consequences it could have (mostly on his relationship with Allison). Stiles is sure it's all very interesting, but he cannot for the life of him focus on what he's saying. It's taking all his effort to keep enough of his attention on driving.

*

Derek is already waiting for them outside the house when they arrive. Stiles' heart skips a beat when he sees him, and Scott gives him an odd look before getting out of the car and walking up to Derek. Stiles joins them after he's parked the car and pretended to check his phone for a minute before he realized he was stalling pathetically.

Scott and Derek are discussing something quietly, neither of them paying any attention to his arrival until he's standing right next to them. Derek glances at him then, expression blank, and Scott looks between the two of them as if he's trying to figure something out.

After a few seconds of awkward silence and avoiding Stiles' eyes, Derek resumes his lecture to Scott on all the benefits of being in a pack. Since it's not exactly his area of expertise, Stiles does not have much to contribute to the conversation besides the occasional quip, which Derek blatantly tries not to react to. The most Stiles' manages to get out of him is an angry glare, and that's downright disappointing. Eventually, he gets bored and takes a walk around the house, and by the time he gets back, they're talking about the Argents, to which Stiles refuses to listen again to on principle, so he continues exploring the surroundings and wondering what the hell is up with Derek. Silent treatment, really? That's just stupid. Even Scott can see something is wrong, and that's saying something, given how unobservant he usually is.

He's taking his frustration out on one of the less burnt down walls (it's just a small kick, really, he doesn't want Derek's ruin of a house to crumble) when Derek finds him.

“Scott's gone,” he says, approaching Stiles slowly, carefully, as if he's going to bolt if he moves to quickly. Stiles kind of wants to tell him he's not a deer, but he refrains, because his words are more alarming.

“I... What? I was supposed to take him home. That's literally the only reason I've been hanging around.” Okay, that might not be entirely true.

“He ran. He thought some extra exercise wouldn't hurt him.”

“Really.” Stiles wonders just what Derek told Scott to make him leave them alone like that.

“Stiles,” Derek says after a moment of silence, and it comes out pained. Stiles knows they're talking about something else now, can feel that Derek is asking him something, but he has no clue what it is.

“What,” Stiles starts to say, then stops, because it's so much harder to say out loud than in his head. He takes a deep breath. “What do you want from me, Derek?”

Derek looks down, then away to the woods, and finally his gaze returns to Stiles. He sighs and it sounds tired. It looks like he's about to speak, but then he changes his mind again and leans back against the wall, grimacing and closing his eyes.

Communication should not be this difficult, Stiles thinks.

When Derek finally reaches some decision or other, he opens his eyes and his smile is bitter. He motions for Stiles to step in front of him. When he does, Derek looks him in the eyes, places his hands on his shoulders, smirks, and pushes down.

Stiles blames the fact that he wasn't expecting it for going down to his knees with no resistance. He doesn't get up immediately either, though.

“You can't just expect me to keep giving you blow jobs whenever you feel like it, you know,” he says, because he knows where this is going. He doesn't wait for Derek's reply, just tugs down his jeans and then boxers to his knees. Derek's hands have moved from his shoulders to the sides of his face, and his gentle touches are making Stiles' pants rather uncomfortable.

Stiles has to admit to himself that he feels relieved, because somehow, this is easier than having a serious discussion.

“I'm not your sex slave,” he says cheekily while gripping Derek's cock in one hand and holding his hip in the other, to stay in charge. He is rougher this time, part of him still irrationally frustrated with Derek, and he's gripping tighter and stroking faster by the second.

“You've got to reciprocate at some point,” is the last thing he says before taking Derek into his mouth. Derek actually lets out a pleased noise and buckles his hips, trying to get deeper. But Stiles is prepared this time, and digs his fingers into Derek's hip until he relinquishes control.

He is surprised by how much easier he finds doing this for the second time. The tips he may have looked up on the internet help him take Derek deeper and deeper, until he's hitting the back of his throat. When he feels ready (it takes him a while to get to the point where he can control his gag reflex), he releases Derek's hip, taps it lightly to get his attention, and once their eyes meet, Derek _gets it_. His eyes darken, and his hold on Stiles' head tightens and he rolls his hips, slowly at first, and then increases the pace, and Stiles just lets him fuck his face until he's spent and then dutifully swallows it all down.

Stiles rises. Derek's got a satisfied half-smile on his face, and he looks like he's not entirely there, so he tucks him in and buttons his jeans. On impulse, he kisses him in a very quick, chaste way, and he hopes Derek can taste himself on his lips.

“I meant what I said.” He shoves against his chest to make his point, and Derek actually stumbles backwards a bit. Stiles gives him a meaningful look and walks away. Derek predictably doesn't follow.

*

Days pass, almost a week, and Stiles is beginning to lose hope that Derek will want to continue this... whatever they have. A presumably no-strings-attached rather one-sided sexual relationship between two people who aren't event that fond of each other? He doesn't know the word for that.

He doesn't understand what Derek's problem is, what internal dilemma is preventing him from acting on what he obviously wants to some degree, but he's getting sick of thinking about it obsessively. He needs to know whether it's the fact that he's male, a teenager, Sheriff's son, unable to keep his mouth shut, not nearly as cut as Derek, perhaps a combination of all of those? Or is Derek still hung up on what happened with Kate? That wouldn't be surprising – Stiles would have issues too if his last significant other brutally murdered his family.

It's on a Saturday evening when Stiles walks out of the shower, towel around hips, just about to get ready to go to bed, that Derek climbs in through his window.

Despite the sudden mixture of relief, excitement and anxiety he feels, Stiles can improvise. The fact that they're effectively on his turf helps make him feel more comfortable with himself. He leans to his side, against the wall, places on hand on his hip and says in what he would like to describe as husky voice, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Derek just shakes his head. “Do you never wear clothes when you're at home?”

And really, it's just Derek's luck that he always seems to come in when Stiles is more or less naked, but he is totally going to spend the next few evenings seductively lounging on his bed nude, just to see the expression on Derek's face, if he happens to return.

“Convenience,” Stiles says. “Easy access.” He saunters towards Derek, who hasn't moved from the window. “Why are you here, Derek?”

Derek doesn't answer, but he takes a step towards Stiles, and then falters, undecided.

“Have you come in in the dead of night just to ravish me? Is this going to be a thing now?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He walks up to Stiles, this time with determination. He seems to switch between confused and confident in a blink of an eye. He grabs Stiles' arms, just beneath the shoulders, rotates him so his back is to the bed and walks him backwards until they're standing at the edge of the mattress. Stiles' heart is beating ridiculously fast – being manhandled is much more exciting than he thought it would be. Derek grins as he tugs at his towel and flings it away. Stiles finds it unfair that he's naked while Derek is fully dressed. He's just about to do something about that when Derek shoves him backwards and he bounces on the mattress.

Stiles scoots up to the headboard, away from Derek – he doesn't know why, but he feels like prey again, it seems to be a thing with him and Derek, and it should bother him but for some reason it doesn't, not nearly enough – but Derek wraps his hands around his ankles and pulls him back to the middle of the bed. He doesn't let go of his ankles when he's got him where he wants him, no, he spreads them apart and climbs between Stiles' legs and just looms over him. He gives Stiles a once-over, the most intense and painfully slow once-over Stiles has ever experienced (not that there have been many, but he's certain that even if there were, this one would rate above them). Goosebumps prickle his skin and low heat settles in his belly, and if he didn't think it was possible to physically feel someone's gaze on your skin, he does now. He's fully exposed, pale skin on display just for Derek, and he instinctively tries to close his legs, but Derek won't let him. He wants to cover himself up with his hands, but he doesn't even know where to begin.

Derek brings his right ankle up to his shoulder, turns his head and nuzzles his calf. It's so bizarre and yet it makes Stiles squirm with what is most definitely pleasure. He tries to get up, but Derek just gives him this look that makes him stop dead in his tracks and says, “Stay down.”

Stiles obeys, and Derek's attention returns to his calf. He opens his mouth and Stiles' skin is so sensitive right now that he can feel the heat of each exhale. Derek leans forward, licks the skin, which tickles, and then _bites_. Stiles feels a spike of fear, but his teeth don't pierce the skin. He sucks, hard, and Stiles arches his back and hisses. As Derek starts moving up his leg, nipping everywhere, kissing the back of his knee and biting him there too, Stiles moves his hands to touch himself, but Derek swats them away and glares at him, as if he's done something horribly wrong. So Stiles decides to just lie back and let him do what he wants, because Jesus Christ, he never knew how insanely good someone's mouth on his inner thigh could make him feel.

Derek inches up, slowly, leaving hickeys everywhere, and by the time he reaches the dip between his thigh and hip, Stiles is a mess. A part of him, the part that can still think coherently, wonders how he's going to hide the bruises, the markings, in the morning.

“For fuck's sake,” he starts to say, but Derek shuts him up with another glare.

“No moving, no talking. Got it.” Stiles is being sarcastic, but Derek just smiles at him like he's finally getting it.

And then Derek moves to his balls, takes each one in his mouth and sucks, gently this time, and Stiles doesn't even care any more that he's moaning like a porn star. He tangles his fingers in Derek's hair, momentarily surprised that he is actually allowed to do that, and just holds on as Derek's tongue does wonderful things between his legs. Stiles is getting close now, and he feels almost embarrassed that he's probably going to come without Derek even touching his cock, but then Derek moves even lower, tongue making slow circles around his hole, and Stiles stops thinking completely. He shudders and his toes curl as he comes when his tongue breaches him, but Derek doesn't stop, continues lapping at him through the aftershocks, until he lies completely still and relaxed.

He would move and give Derek a hand, but he's just had his mind blown and he just wants to lie there and revel in it. It appears that Derek's happy to leave him to it, because he gets up from the bed, and Stiles realizes that he never took any of his clothes off. He can see the noticeable bulge in his jeans, and it makes him swallow hard.

“Leaving already?”

“It was your turn.”

“That's not what I meant when I said reciprocate. It doesn't always have to be just you or just me.”

But Derek is already out of the window. Stiles is starting to think that their not-so-dramatic exits every time after something happens are getting old. He yells after him, really grateful that his dad is working late tonight, but there's not response. He resolves to drive over to Derek's first thing in the morning and make him talk about his feelings like an adult. He refuses to be distracted by sex this time (well, he's at least going to give that last one a try). He knows Derek well enough to be able to tell that he's just going to brood and wallow in his man-pain if Stiles doesn't make him deal with it somehow. With that thought, he drifts of to sleep.

It's a decent plan – it's a shame he won't get to put it into action, because he doesn't wake up alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading and feedback! It makes me so happy.

The sound of shoes nervously tapping on his floor and hushed whisper is what wakes him. Cold fear seeps through him, but when he opens his eyes, he sees Scott perched on one side of the bed, and Allison standing awkwardly at the other. They look troubled.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god. You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here at this time in the morning?”

“It's past eleven,” says Allison, eyes narrowing.

“My point exactly! How long have you been here? How did you even get in here? Were you watching me sleep? There are so many things wrong with this scene.”

“Five minutes or so. Your dad let us in. For a little while, but not in a creepy way,” answers Scott, looking only slightly ashamed.

For a moment, Stiles does not know what to say (a rare and unwelcome moment for him), and Scott and Allison share a look. They both sigh, and Stiles gets a weird twisting feeling in his stomach. He can tell he isn't going to like what he's going to hear.

“Stiles,” Allison says, after an unspoken agreement with Scott. “this is an intervention.”

He gapes. “What?”

“An intervention,” supplies Scott helpfully. “An orchestrated attempt by your friends to-”

“I know what an intervention is.” Stiles shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and prays that when he opens them again, his so called friends will magically disappear. “Remind me, why do I need one?”

Allison and Scott look at each other, both clearly hoping the other will want to take over this part of the conversation. This leads to a few moments to awkward silence and them gesturing at each other to get on with it.

Finally, Allison gives in with an exasperated sigh. Her feet shuffle on the floor and she crosses her arms in front of her. “Scott tells me,” she starts, but Scott looks at her angrily, as if he didn't want to be blamed for this. She purses her mouth and gives him a look that conveys “I hate you for making me do this” surprisingly well. “Anyway, he says that... That you and Derek have been acting, umm, rather strange lately.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” says Stiles, and he's quite proud of his poker face until he remembers that won't work because Scott is a werewolf and can nearly always tell when someone is lying.

The couple share another one of their unspoken conversations again, and this time Scott is the one who is forced to continue. “I think you do,” he says, “and Stiles, before you try to deny it again... Keep in mind that I have a superior sense of hearing and, well, smell.” He makes a face that Stiles doesn't even try to decipher, because he really doesn't want to know exactly what scents Scott is picking up from his room. He doesn't have a better response than “Ah.” 

Apparently this acknowledgement gives Scott permission to speak whatever is on his mind, because he turns away from Stiles and explains. “I could tell you reacted differently to one another when we had that meeting earlier this week. I didn't really suspect anything serious until he essentially told me to leave without you, though. Still, I thought that maybe he just wanted to discuss what being a human in the pack could mean for you, or something. But now, I can smell him here. I.. can also smell certain things that must have happened here recently. And then there's your leg,” he says pointedly. The last comment seems so out of place that Stiles actually has to glance at his leg before he remembers the marks that Derek left there last night. He spares a moment to deeply regret his habit of partially kicking off the duvet in the night. There's something really unsettling about your best friend and his girlfriend being privy to the results of your intimate activities, so he hides his leg under the covers again.

Stiles buries his head under his pillow. He's clutching it to his face with both hands, and despite Allison's numerous attempts at snatching it away, he manages to keep it. It's comforting, warm and soft, it means he doesn't have to look at their faces, and maybe, if he's lucky, he'll asphyxiate and this horrible, horrible situation will be over.

“Why do you care?” he mumbles into his pillow, his new best friend. The pillow wouldn't force him to have serious conversations about his life choices.

“Because we're your friends,” says Allison. “And what you and Derek are doing is... Unexpected, to say the least. I mean, I admit I always thought you had this strange tension going on, but-”

Stiles groans and tries to pull the pillow over his ears as well. Sadly, it doesn't drown out Allison's musings on the unresolved tension between him and Derek.

“And you do often smell, erm, appreciative, when he's around, especially when he's shirtless,” Scott interjects, and Stiles hates the farce that is his life. He truly does.

“... but it's all so sudden. What changed?”

He really doesn't want to answer that one, so he just shakes his head and hopes they can see the motion past the pillow.

“Stiles, we can't have an intervention if you're not cooperating.” Allison pats him gingerly on the shoulder, trying to be comforting, but failing.

“Look, we just want to know what's going on. Are you two, like, dating now?” 

Stiles can't help but snort at that. He moves the pillow away briefly to ask, “You really think Derek Hale is dating me?” and it comes out more bitter than he intended.

“Well, he's doing something to you.”

“Then I can tell you, for your peace of mind, there were no candlelit dinners involved.”

And then, maybe because Stiles has shown he is willing to talk, it's like a dam was broken, and Allison and Scott are talking and asking questions over each other, not even giving him time to answer.

“Is it just sex then?”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Because there are things you should know about-”

“Isn't he a bit old? I mean, you're a teenager...”

“Things can get very-”

“Is he good in bed?”

Stiles wishes the ground could swallow him up and end this. It would be very convenient. “Shut up, I'm begging you. Both of you. I don't know, all right? I don't know anything. We haven't exactly talked about the status of our relationship. It's mostly been, well, physical, and to be perfectly honest, there hasn't been all that much of that either. I don't know whether Derek wants something more, I don't even know if I do. Are you happy now? Do you want details? The size of his dick, maybe?”

Scott pales at that and Allison makes a face. “I think we're okay.”

“So, can we just let it go for now?”

It looks like they're about to let it drop until Scott sighs and continues. “Stiles. I don't think you realise how serious this situation is. You're getting involved with the Alpha. Not just any Alpha, you're getting involved with Derek Hale. You know he doesn't do anything just for kicks. I don't think it's likely that he just wants to get laid. He could've done that with someone else with a lot less consequences.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Scott shrugs. “I'm just trying to warn you. If you don't want anything more than sex, you might want to clear that up with him before going any further.”

Stiles buries his head in the pillow again. The pillow is nice doesn't expect anything from him. “Can you please just... go, and I'll try to erase this scene from my memory. No, wait, actually I have one more question. Why were you here in the first place? Can you smell things from that far away?” If they can, there's no point in trying to hide anything any more.

“Actually, this intervention was a spur of the moment decision. We came to talk to you about what you think about me joining Derek's pack and how we can make him accept Allison, but then... you know.” He nudges Stiles' still covered up marked leg.

Thankfully, they leave after that. 

*

Stiles' mind spins in circles, repeating Scott's words over and over again and trying to make a decision.

One mortifying conversation is enough for the day, so he decides to avoid Derek for the time being. Scott and Allison have successfully, if unintentionally, ruined the recklessness and spontaneousness of what was happening between him and Derek, and he resents them for that. He's sure they meant well, but all it means for him is that he gets a headache when he starts thinking about Derek and anything to do with him.

He used to think Derek was the one with issues regarding intimacy and relationships, but maybe Stiles isn't all that well adjusted either. He's not opposed to dating Derek (although he simply cannot imagine them going to the movies and a dinner or bringing each other flowers. Those images are just incompatible with who they are and what they are like with each other), but Scott made it sound like it was a more serious commitment, and Stiles doesn't know what that means. There's always the possibility that Scott is completely wrong and Derek was just releasing some tension, but the more he thinks about it, the more unlikely that seems.

Sure, Derek is apparently unable to talk about his feelings, but he's made it pretty clear he wants him, at least physically. Like Scott said, Derek is not the sort of person to get involved with someone without serious thought and consideration – he can't be, with his past. He seemed conflicted on several occasions when they were together, but less and less each time.

*

By Sunday evening, he's no closer to reaching a decision. He's not looking forward to going to school the next day and seeing Scott again. He doesn't really want to leave his room ever again, to be perfectly honest.

So it's just as well Derek shows up at his window soon after dark. Stiles is sprawled on the bed, a book open next to him in an attempt to do homework instead of pining and daydreaming. He sits up at the sound of the window opening, heart hammering in his chest.

Derek looks at him and wavers. “We need to talk,” he says cautiously. He must know the Sheriff is home.

Stiles groans and flops back on the bed. “Oh, not you too.”

Derek sits next to him, but not close enough to touch. “Stiles...” he begins.

But Stiles is still not in the mood for serious conversations, so he tugs at the hem of Derek's shirt, the slides his fingers under it to trace his hip bone. “Can we... Not?”

“We really should,” is the reply, but he can see Derek is tempted. He doesn't stop Stiles when he moves his hand slowly over his stomach – god, those abs - and then lower, following the happy trail to his jeans and then back again.

“Scott came to talk to me,” Derek says and his voice is strained.

“Wonderful. He and Allison staged an intervention for me yesterday.”

Derek chuckles, and Stiles looks up at him, startled, his hand now moving upwards to his chest.

“Is that funny to you? Do you have any idea how painful that was for me, or do just want to see me suffer?” He punctuates the last question by pinching one of Derek's nipples. Derek looks at him darkly, catches his hand and presses it down against the bed. Stiles tries to free it, but his grip is tight and unrelenting, like handcuffs. “Kinky,” he says.

“We're going to talk,” Derek growls in response, leaning closer. Whatever Scott said to him must have been pretty damn effective, given how uncommunicative he was the last couple of weeks.

“So talk.”

Derek hesitates again, his face only a few inches from Stiles'. He studies him, and Stiles feels raw and exposed again. He raises his other hand to feel up Derek some more, but he sees it coming this time and pins it to the bed immediately. Then Derek rolls over and straddles him in one smooth move. Stiles is trapped, his hands and hips pinned down by Derek's weight. He squirms, tries to escape just to see if he can, but fails. He stops resisting when Derek says his name and grinds down.

“If this is what you consider talking, I can definitely get behind it.” Stiles should really learn to keep his mouth shut, because the words make Derek still and pensive again. Except when Stiles opens his mouth to urge him to continue, Derek leans down and stops only an inch from his face, lips parted. Acting on instinct, Stiles raises his head and presses his lips to Derek's, who instantly gets on with the program and pushes him back down into the mattress, teeth tugging on his lower lip.

Derek licks inside his mouth, and it feels strange and unfamiliar. Stiles realizes this is the first proper kiss they've shared. Frankly speaking, it's his first proper kiss with anyone. He tries to just go along with what Derek's doing and hopes he doesn't screw it up. Derek seems to have a pretty good idea of how things are meant to be done, although Stiles suspects that most people don't nip and bite at each other's lips quite this much. 

Derek moves on to alternatively licking and biting his jaw, ear lobes and neck, and Stiles is about to ask him about his marking fetish, but Derek shoves two fingers into his mouth, which is quite effective at keeping him quiet and distracted. He swirls his tongue around the fingers, between them, and Derek tilts his head up with the heel of his palm on his jaw to bite at his Adam's apple and makes his way towards his clavicle. Stiles uses his now free hand to palm Derek's ass and press his hips down and it's really fucking fantastic until they hear a knock on the door and they both freeze.

Derek sits up and wipes his mouth. 

“Stiles?” His had asks through the door. 

“Yes?”

“Are you all right? I thought I heard talking and some strange noises.”

“I'm watching a movie. Stop being so paranoid.”

“So you won't mind me coming in?”

Stiles most certainly would mind. “I... It's not your kind of movie. I mean... There are scenes... You don't want to see.”

His dad sighs. “No, I really don't think I do,” he says and then Stiles hears him walk away. He sighs too, but in relief.

Derek releases his hands and leaves the bed in a hurry. He heads towards the window, turning only once towards Stiles to say: “We're having another pack meeting on Wednesday. Give me your answer then.”

*

Stiles is really quite upset, because he's now supposed to answer a question he wasn't even asked. He has a pretty good idea of what Derek meant, partially from what Scott said and from how Derek behaved, but it wouldn't kill him to use words to express it (on the off chance that Stiles is wrong, Wednesday could be incredibly embarrassing for both of them). Not to mention the fact that he had to take care of himself after Derek left him so abruptly the day before.

It doesn't help when Scott brings up the topic again at lunch. The reason for that might be the fact that Stiles is wearing a scarf at this time of year and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. Stiles' entire day consists of strange looks thrown his way and some really awkward questions from people he barely even knows.

“How is this any of your business?” Stiles asks, irritated, when Scott mentions Derek and asks if Stiles has given the matter any thought, which is a ridiculous question, because it's not like he's been able to think about anything else.

“It is, actually. Think, Stiles. If I join his pack, you and Allison come in a package with me. Should whatever it is that you and Derek have go wrong, it'll destroy the pack. Or say the opposite happens. I decide not to join the pack, but you and Derek get really serious about each other. In the end, you'll have to choose between him and me, and I don't want you to have to make that choice.”

Stiles stays silent. He hadn't thought about the consequences his sex life could have on Scott. He didn't think that was something that warranted concern.

“I see one solution,” continues Scott. He waits for Stiles to acknowledge him.

“Go on,” says Stiles.

“You decide.”

“I decide what?”

“If you want to take things to the next level with him, we join his pack. Otherwise, we don't.”

Stiles' jaw drops. “Wow, no pressure then. And you're okay with that? You don't care what happens?”

“I don't care about being in the pack nearly as much as I care about you. You're my best friend, and I want it to stay that way. This is the best solution I can think of that ensures that.”

He feels intimidated by all the responsibility being on his shoulders, but at the same time, he's genuinely touched that Scott still cares this much about him. Things have changed between them, gotten slightly colder, a bit more distant, since Allison, Scott's increase in popularity and the whole werewolf business. But right now he feels like it's them against the world again and he didn't even realize how much he missed that. “Thanks,” he says.

*

If he didn't feel pressure before the talk with Scott, he certainly does now. Suddenly, the fate of the pack depends on his love life and that's ridiculous.

He likes Derek – he doesn't want to use bigger words, words he's not sure he truly understands - he finds him attractive and there are some other qualities about him that he appreciates, but what everyone has been implying is some major commitment that he doesn't know if he's ready for. There's also the pack and everything that comes with it to take into account and it all feels like too much.

So he makes lists. Pros and cons. There are spreadsheets involved, and graphs. He thinks about it for hours, days, and he still can't make a decision.

Scott doesn't mention it any more, just gives Stiles these looks that set him on edge and make him feel nervous. 

*

Wednesday comes, and Stiles hasn't made a decision. He doesn't say a word to Scott as they drive towards the Hale house, and the atmosphere in the car is unusually tense and awkward. Scott seems equally reluctant to break the silence. Perhaps he can detect Stiles' turmoil with his super werewolf senses, or maybe he feels like he's said everything there was to say.

When they reach their destination, he parks the jeep and takes a deep breath. He tells Scott to wait by the car while he gets Derek and Scott just nods. Stiles walks up to the front door slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, heart beating fast and palms sweating. He doesn't knock – there's not way Derek hasn't heard the car approaching - he just kicks the door lightly and waits for the sound of footsteps.

When Derek opens the door and takes in Stiles, a hopeful smile appears on his face. That expression looks so foreign on him, and it's so sudden and unexpected that it completely melts Stiles' heart, even though he really didn't think he was the melting type. He realizes, in the blink of an eye and completely out of the blue, that it makes him ridiculously happy that he was the cause of that smile, and that he doesn't want it to stop. It's strange to think that he didn't fully realize he felt this way, this much, about Derek Hale. 

That's all it takes for him to decide. It's that simple, and no lists of reasons are necessary. He knows, and a strange calmness spreads through him. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He returns Derek's smile, and it's like Derek understands and no words have to be said, because his smile widens into a grin and he takes a step closer. He halts there, leaving the decision again to Stiles, who holds his face between his hands and leans in for a kiss.

Derek wraps his arms around his waist and holds him tight. Stiles is pressed against his body head to toe, and the moment is perfect until Scott ruins it by speaking. “So, are you-”

“Go, Scott,” Derek interrupts him.

“But the meeting-”

“Go.”

“Stiles drove me!”

“Either go, or stay and watch.” 

Scott wisely decides to leave, muttering to himself about getting his own vehicle.

Derek grabs Stiles' hand and leads him inside. He slams the door shut and presses Stiles against it, catching his lips in a kiss. Stiles obligingly spreads his legs further so he can step between them. There's only clothes separating them now, but Stiles wants closer. He wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders and hooks one leg behind his knee. Derek takes the hint and places his hands beneath his thighs and lifts him high enough that he can wrap his legs tightly around his waist. Derek moves his hands under Stiles' ass and squeezes as he thrusts rhythmically against him. Stiles is rock hard already and desperately hopes he won't come in his pants quite yet, because there's so much more he wants right now. He can feel Derek's similarly turned on, so he tears his mouth away from Derek's and says, panting, “Fuck me.”

Derek's eyes darken. “Bed?”

“God, I don't even care. You can do me on the floor if you like, as long as you do it soon.”

Clearly Derek's content with that, because he lets Stiles' legs drop to the floor and gets on his knees and then sits back, pulling Stiles on top of him. Once Stiles is settled in his lap, Derek lies back, still urging Stiles to follow, and he gladly obeys. After getting their legs into a more comfortable position, Stiles ends up straddling him, which is definitely something he could get used to. He spreads his palms across Derek's chest as he ruts against him. He traces Derek's muscles through his shirt, then decides the fabric is just bothersome and slides it off Derek, who's very cooperative. And because Stiles believes in equality, he takes his shirt off too. 

Derek grins, licks his lips, bares his teeth, sits up and latches his mouth on Stiles' nipple. Stiles lets out a sound he's not proud of as Derek's hands clutch his hips and pull him even closer, which he didn't even think was possible. He can feel his teeth, and they're sharp, too sharp to be fully human, scraping against wet, sensitive skin. Heat pools in his belly and he squirms, not sure if he's trying to get away or get closer. He reaches between them to get rid of the rest of their clothes. He can unbutton their trousers, but can't take them off because there's just no space and he tries to push Derek away so he can get it done, but Derek has a different idea. He flips them around so Stiles' back hits the floor, pulls down his jeans and underpants in one go and then repeats the same process on himself. Stiles just watches and his mouth waters when Derek's cock springs free. Just the thought of that in him makes him even harder, and perhaps also slightly afraid, because a part of him just wonders how is that even going to fit.

“You have lube, right? And condoms?” 

Derek looks at him for a second like he'd rather not bother with either, but he gets up anyway. “Wait here,” he says and Stiles enjoys the view as he walks away. Stiles lies back against the floor – it's not all that comfortable, but he hadn't even noticed before – and lazily jerks himself off while he waits.

He's back with both soon enough. He settles between Stiles legs, spreads them a little wider for better access and wastes no time before opening the bottle and coating his fingers generously with lube. He bends forward and mouths Stiles' neck as he circles his hole with one finger. Stiles moans impatiently and Derek finally bites down as he slips the finger in. Stiles arches his back, gasping. It's not painful, but it is a bit strange, especially when Derek starts moving the finger back and forth, curling it and twisting, and Stiles feels like he's being played with. He pushes down, asking for more without having to say it, and Derek adds a second finger. He can feel the stretch now, but it's the pleasant kind. Derek scissors the fingers, spreads him wider and stretches him from the inside. Stiles is close to coming now, his hands still working his cock until Derek takes notice of that and shoves them away.

“Not until I'm inside you,” he whispers against his skin and Stiles tangles his hands in his hair instead.

“Get on with it then.”

The third finger hurts at first, but Derek is gentle enough and persistent and Stiles gets used to it. It helps when Derek hits that sweet spot inside of him, and after a few minutes of that Stiles is a mumbling mess. When Derek decides to stop toying with him it's almost a relief. He watches Derek roll the condom on and lube himself up with nerve-wrecking anticipation.

Stiles curses when he pushes the tip in, because it's really fucking painful. “Relax,” Derek tells him, and he tries, but he's failing at it miserably until Derek distracts him with kissing and tongue. It's a lot easier when Stiles manages to loosen his muscles and Derek can actually enter him fully. He's slow at first, but as soon as it looks like Stiles is okay, he picks up the pace. Stiles tries to hold onto the floor somehow to keep himself from sliding back and forth with each thrust, but it's too smooth for that, so he just grips Derek's shoulders and holds onto them.

He doesn't have time to get used to it before Derek picks him up and raises him into a sitting position, so he's straddling his lap again. Stiles briefly envies his strength, but then Derek bucks his hips up and he stops thinking. He grabs Derek's shoulders again and uses them as leverage to take him exactly as deep as he wants to, and he likes the control it gives him. Then Derek shows his kind and considerate side and wraps one of his hands around Stiles' neglected cock. He pumps it and Stiles can do nothing but continue holding onto him and roll his hips in time to match his relentless thrusts until it all becomes too much.

Stiles clenches around Derek as he comes, not even intentionally, but Derek still gasps and tenses beneath him. He collects himself quickly and fucks him steadily until Stiles is limp and loose around him, mind numb from the orgasm, just taking it for as long as Derek is willing to give it. It's not long before he lowers him back onto the floor, pulls out, removes the condom, jerks his cock a couple of times and comes all over Stiles' heaving chest.

Stiles shakes his head at him. “Is this retribution for that one time? Wow, you really can hold a grudge.” 

Derek smirks, then bends licks the few drops that landed near his nipples. He kisses him afterwards, thoroughly, and Stiles can feel him smiling, so he smiles back into the kiss.

“Because in that case, there's a few things you could pay me back for.”

Derek looks at him, as happy and relaxed as Stiles has ever seen him. “Gladly,” he says.


End file.
